House and Homeboy
by bardvahalla
Summary: Foreman accepts a lift home from House and gets quite a ride.


House and Homeboy

Bardvahalla (2005)

(Foreman reluctantly accepts a lift home from House and it's a ride he won't forget.)

The mechanic squinted at the drained battery. "It's dead."

"So? Give me a boost." Foreman slumped exhausted. House had him running all day. Tests, swabs, and then that damn report after googling the long history of complaints of violence outbursts by users of the drug Paxil.

Foreman felt tired. He wanted to go home. Eat. Rest. Not think.

"No boost can save this battery. You need a new one. This one's shot." The mechanic wiped his runny nose with the back of his bare hand. "Where do you want me to tow it to?"

Foreman stifled a yawn and let out a deep breath. Honest mechanics were as rare as honest lawyers. Luckily he knew one. "Take it to Auto Man. You know Auto Man near here, off the ramp?"

The mechanic, the name stitched into his coverall read 'Ralph', wiped his slimy hand on greasy coveralls. "Yeah. Off the highway, near the Walmart?"

Foreman nodded and signed the receipt for the tow. "That's them."

Ralph hoisted Foreman's dead car up onto its rear wheels. Foreman reached for his cell to call a cab as he watched. House hobbled into view, an inevitable sarcastic remark lurking in the corner of his stubbled mouth. The tow truck chugged away, and Foreman's chained ride was forced to follow.

House regarded the empty space where battery fluid now stained the cement like acid blood. "Car trouble?"

"Yeah." Eric dialed the cab number from memory. He'd called for patients often enough. The line was busy. It was a nice night. He could walk, or there was always the bus, but damned if he was going to give House any more fodder for snide comments

House looked around and pointed at a shiny Honda with his cane. "Steal that one, it goes with your shoes."

Foreman grit his teeth. The car's red paint almost exactly matched the trim on his new sneakers. Bastard. House nailed him on two sore points with one observation. Foreman rubbed his eyes. God, he was tired! The best retort he could manage was, "Bite me."

"Tempting, but I'm more a white meat kinda guy." House shuffled towards his new motorcycle, then glanced back. "Oh, don't look so hurt. I'll give you a ride on Paris. C'mon."

His new bike. His sweet ride. His latest obsession, named after Paris Hilton. "Fast, stupid and expensive to maintain." House remarked in his office, as he tacked a glossy photo of his new love above his computer.

House patted the soft, black leather seat. "Hop on," he coaxed.

"I'm not getting on that."

House somehow managed to appear affronted. "She's won't mind if I don't."

Eric shook his head. "I don't have a helmet."

"Use mine. I've got sunglasses."

Glasses? Was House completely insane? "No way. Thanks, but no way." Eric turned to his cell to call the cab company again. House leaned on the bike and made clucking sounds.

"I am not chicken," Foreman growled.

"Of course you're not." House smirked and then whispered, "Puuuuuss! PUSS! PUSS-PUSS-PUSS-PUUUUUUUUUSS!"

His mocking call was attracting the stares of several nurses. Foreman's eyes narrowed. "House-"

House batted his blue eyes at him. "I promise I won't go too fast, I'll signal properly and I won't call you 'my ho'."

"You lie like a rug." Forman pressed the redial button. "Go home. Download porn. I'll get a nice safe cab. Goodnight." He put the cell to his ear. Busy again. Well. There was always the bus, he thought unhappily and stifled a yawn.

"You're just embarrassed to be seen with me." House sniffed in mock rejection. "Meanie."

Foreman watched as House straddled the bike with difficulty, strapped on his helmet and put the key in the ignition. The bike roared to life and one-footed, he eased it out onto the road.

House paused nearby and gunned the motor. A wild smile split Greg's normally sullen features in two. "I can have you home in 5 minutes."

This was a mistake. Foreman knew this was a mistake. Why would he do this? With a sigh of resignation, he secured his bag across over his back and carefully climbed on. "No screwing around, alright?"

"I swear to God." House solemnly vowed, then gunned the motor savagely and together they roared down the road and past the hospital exit. Foreman nearly screamed as they narrowly dodged a speeding city bus and an old lady at a crosswalk.

Foreman clung to House, his eyes now tightly closed. He'd been in fast cars before. He'd boosted fast cars as a kid, just to race them, but riding on the back of a rocket on wheels, driven by a certifiably insane Vicodin addict was definitely an unwelcome first.

House ran a yellow light but moments later screeched to a halt at a busy intersection.

"Stop holding me so tight." House complained, "I can't breathe."

Foreman loosened his iron grip slightly and looked around. Downtown already? He spotted a free cab a few yards away and said loudly, "This is good. I'll just get off heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere!"

The rushing wind made his eyes water so he kept them closed. A wildly loud pounding noise came from somewhere. A construction site? House skidded to a stop at a red light, paused long enough for Foreman to grasp the pounding was his heart, and then they sped off once more. Foreman felt the bike curve sharply to the left as they flashed down the side streets towards his condo.

What seemed a million beats later, House screeched to a sharp halt in front of a building Foreman vaguely recognized. Foreman's brain took a few moments to comprehend they had arrived. Home. Safe. Stationary.

He peeled his moist hands from House's leather jacket. It required sheer force of will to maneuver his body off the bike and place his feet onto the cement. He nearly fell as he wobbled over the curb. Foreman made himself stand steady and look House in the eye.

"That was fun. Thanks" Foreman clutched at the strap of his bag to hide the trembling of his hands, but he hadn't been quite able to control the quaver in his voice.

House winked, waved and roared away.

Safely inside, Foreman collapsed onto the sofa, his exposed skin chilled from the ride, his legs trembling, his heart thumping like a hot dance club on a Saturday night.

Once his heart slowed, he got up and poured himself a large shot of rye. Foreman drank it down fast, warm and straight. House lied. He had known House would lie! He knew House would jerk him around, just for the sake of it.

With hesitation, Foreman looked up at the mirror. His own wide smile took him by surprise.

Well? It _had_ been fun, hadn't it?

Much faster than the bus.

FIN


End file.
